


Lemon

by SpiritPhantasm



Category: Gintama
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Angst, Cuddling, Fluff, Gen, Gore, PTSD, Parental Love, Rated for the gory nightmare, Songfic, Substance Abuse, flangst, hallucination, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-03 00:11:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16797526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiritPhantasm/pseuds/SpiritPhantasm
Summary: Shouyou was, and still is, the north to his compass.





	Lemon

**Author's Note:**

> I have exam tomorrow, so what do I do? That's right, I write a fic.

Shouyou was, and still is, the north to his compass. So that whenever he’s faced with a difficult choice, it’s never hard to figure out which way to go. In the turbulent sea and raging wind of a state of being called life, his broad back was a lighthouse, guiding those who lost their way.

He had his eyes on Shouyou’s back ever since he was but a demon in a field of corpses. To this day, he’s still chasing it without rest. 

.

.

.

Lemon

.

.

.

_The last thing you taught me, was that there’s a kind of happiness that can never come back_

_._

.

Gintoki wakes up with a gasp, eyes snapping open and wildly scanning the ceiling of his room. No matter how deep he’s trying to breathe, air just won’t go past his larynx, stuck in his throat because of the skeletal fingers pressing down on his neck.

Most nights, the nightmares would stay buried in his consciousness after he woke up. The lifeless eyes of those he can’t protect, the accusing fingers of the people left behind, the dying scream of those who called him their hero. There’s sweat on his brow and fire right under his skin, scorching him inside out. His hands twitch on the bedding and curl into fists.

With a grunt, he swung one at the specter above him and rolls out of the futon. That little stunt crushed his shoulder to the floor, but the pain is fleeting and momentary, already forgotten when he’s stumbling out of his room.

Most nights, all he needed to do was sit in front of the closet, listening to Kagura’s and Sadaharu’s unseemly snores and feel its vibration against his back to banish the dreams. But tonight is not most days, tonight is where the nightmares claw their way out of the darkness of his thoughts and into reality, dragging themselves on skinless fingers and rotting entrails.

Tonight he had Kagura stay over at Shinpachi’s because she, of all people, shouldn’t have to deal with this. He was alone and in the too-large house he felt it far too keenly.

From the corner of his eyes he sees the glint of blood-stained swords and the empty grin of a skull, shadows in the corners coalescing into twisting shapes and hands made of the darkest dark reaching out to drag him somewhere no light could reach.

Gintoki evades one of those hands, banging his toes against the sofa in process. His nausea multiplied, bile burning in the back of his throat. He stumbles out of the room, gritting his teeth and ignoring how the corridor that separated the living room and the kitchen are soft and squishy and red under his bare feet, entrails and offals scattered all about from the open stomach of a fallen warrior.

” _Shiroyasha_ ” he hisses his name like a curse, past blue lips and torn neck.

The sound of _shakujo_ hitting the earth rings in his ears like the laugh of a maniacal clown. It’s grinding into his temple, seeping under the sweaty skin and pounds through his bloodstream.

Gintoki lurches into the kitchen, tripping over his own feet and slamming bodily into the fridge door. He scrambles for the handle, heart pounding in his throat and temple, throwing it open with a heave.

Momentarily, the shadows recede but they still chant from outside the ring of light the refrigerator provided.

_“Your fault, your fault, your fault, your fault, your fault, your fault—“_

Gintoki grabs a bottle of _sake_ and chugs down half of it straight from the bottle. His eyes stung and his throat burned, but he force the liquid past his tingling lips, fist tight on the fridge door.

After the fourth mouthful, he tears the bottle from his lips and takes a huge gulp of air, coughing. With the back of his hand, he rubs the spilt alcohol and spit from his chin.

This time, when he looks to the corridor, there’s nothing but shadows and wooden floor.

Gintoki let his head hang and, with his fist white on the counter, laugh sardonically at himself.

War hero they call him. The White Demon. The Four Heavenly King. What a load of bull. He’s nothing but a pathetic loser who drinks _sake_ all alone in the middle of the night just to wake up from a nightmare.

_“For the tomorrow, Gintoki. Fight.”_

Gintoki closed his eyes and took another mouthful.

.

_My past, dark and unsaid, would have stayed that way if not for you_

.

They were running on the path between rice paddies. The setting sun painting Zura’s hair almost golden and highlighting the flecks of gold in Bakasugi’s eyes as they narrowed and his sprint gained more speed.

But Gintoki was already far in front of them, looking back from over his shoulder. He abruptly stopped when he was right behind his master who turned around to smile and raised his hand for Gintoki.

“Aren’t you tired already from running around all day on the mountain?” He asked warmly. Gintoki scoffed and took his hand, acutely aware of Takasugi’s jealous glare drilling holes in the back of his head.

“Not at all. That Bakasugi is not much of a competition—too much of a richie rich, can’t even find mushrooms properly.” He drawled lazily. From behind him, Takasugi snapped angrily, words he can no longer remember, and he snapped back. Both of them growling at each other like a couple of feral animal, leaving Katsura to watch in exasperation and their master chuckling.

“You and Shinsuke are always fighting.” Shouyou mourned, though it was a fond little complaint, a smile playing on his lips.

“He asked for it.” Gintoki scowled, letting go of Shouyou’s hand to scratch his stomach. “I have no respect for a brat who won’t even admit he lost the spar this morning.”

“That’s because _I_ won!” said bastard shouted from behind. Gintoki twisted back and glared.

“Did you hit your head so hard you forgot? Oh, yeah, you hit that on the way down fighting _me_.”

“I wouldn’t have lost if you didn’t _kick_. What kind of fuckta—jerk would do that in a sword spar?”

Gintoki snorted in answer, which only served to rile his classmate even further. “Yeah, next time you gotta fight don’t forget to tell your enemy, _‘hey, let’s do this square and fair, no kicking’._ See how long you survive!”

“I wonder if the two of you would ever stop fighting.” Shouyou asked, more to himself than to them, even though the answer was so immediately clear he grinned widely.

“Nah.” Gintoki flapped a hand with a scowl. “Not until he grow up.”

Gintoki was looking, he was always looking even when he looked like he wasn’t, so he saw it clearly how Shouyou’s smile became a bit sadder, but also warmer in the same degree. He patted Shinsuke and Katsura, showing his fondness and getting their attention at once.

“One day, you will have to fight in order to protect what’s truly important. Make today’s lessons tomorrow’s preparation because when that fight come, you wouldn’t be allowed to go back even an inch.”

Takasugi are looking up at him with that look in his eyes that said he’s etching every word into his heart while Katsura nodded solemnly. Gintoki remembered because he asked the question neither of them did.

“When will it end then? The fighting?” Gintoki asked.

“When you no longer have anything precious to you. You need to fight not for the past nor the present. For the tomorrow, Gintoki. Fight.”

.

_There can be nothing more painful than this_

.

Behind his desk, on the chair, is the shadow of the Yorozuya’s boss. Gintoki sits, pouring himself a cup with trembling hands. Some of the liquid spilled from his shaking grip, rolling down the back of his other hand in a freezing current, and he curses weakly.

Half-full and half-empty, Gintoki throws his head back and pours the alcohol into his mouth, relishing the burn that dragged him ever closer to reality and yet even further.

Tomorrow—no, it’s past midnight, so today—today, ten years ago, the war was lost in a single, abrupt swoop. After three years of jumping headfirst into the fray, sacrificing his life and his blood and his sweat for the effort, their force of four thousand good men was wiped out in a single battle. Trapped on two sides by the mountain they thought would protect them, an army on the other two and a murder of crows swooping in to pick on their caresses.

Gintoki slams his eyes shut and ties not to think of the rolling gray cloud and the field of the death. Desperately grappling to shut down his thought before he remembered the cliff and the chime of a thousand _shakujo_ and the desperate begging of his sworn brother and the blood of a loved one dripping from his sword.

Not for the first time he’s grateful for the ghost of warriors who glared at them with dreadful eyes set in a face that’s losing shape. Flesh and blood and white fat sloughing off their glistening skull like wet meat thrown to the wall. They are screaming curses only he can hear, and even that is fading with every mouthful of _sake_. By the time they’re quiet, he would be dead drunk and can’t remember _that day_.

It is said in many tales of old that _sake_ and salt are holy. Bringing protection to the living from being touched by the dead that followed their every step. But the hands are getting closer, not even the city light filtering through his window can keep them at bay. The room becomes darker, stifling, hands grappling on his ankle, around his chest.

The chair clattered loudly when Gintoki falls to his hands and feet, chest constricting as he scrambles against the floorboard beneath the desk. From the slit between the underside of the table and the floor, he saw a pair of eyes staring at him. Staring at him. They’re lightless and dead, but they’re _staring at him_.

His nails catch on a loose floorboard and unmindful of the pain he tore it out. Underneath is an empty space and he reaches in, breath coming out in puffs when his hands touched the dusty surface of a familiar object. A shiver wrecked through his entire body as warmth flushed from his hands down to his toes.

Gintoki pulled it out and, unmindful of the dust that coated it, held the sword to his chest like he was eight and watching a boring lecture in a boring class on a boring day.

_._

_In the darkness I trace your figure. I still painfully remember the shape of your back_

_._

His body is becoming numb. A chill spreading from the tips of his shaking fingers, the hand that desperately held his bloody, slippery sword was shaking with the effort it took to hold it and stand up.

The smoke of his own life burning up is choking him, no amount of inhale could fill his body with the needed air. There’s blood pooling under him, pain dulling his reaction time and a thin filament covering his eyesight. Between the death and the struggle, his enemy stood in front of him.

Green umbrella and mocking smile, half-burnt face and glinting threads, kizami smoke and scarred face, maniacal smile and a lost left eye. Like static, his enemy went in and out of existence, a singularity of everything Gintoki cannot accept. Had to reject.

But his body was exhausted and the ground was spinning, inviting him to fall and sleep in its peaceful embrace.

The compass in his pocket whirls wildly. Its sound reminding him of autumn rain in Hagi prefecture.

Autumn rain often comes with a lot of wind down there. In his childhood room illuminated by a single candle, the swaying branches outside cast their shadows on the paper shoji walls. Claws trying to get him, the waving dress of an evil witch and the blasting rain were tiny footsteps of a thousand goblins trying to get him and drag him to hell, just like the story Zura told him.

But of course he wasn’t scared because Zura told him a couple of scary story before bed, of course n—Gintoki jumped when a lightning split the sky, cowering under his blanket. When he thought it was safe he peeked out again and the thunder decided it was high time to rumble across the sky.

Fuck this frikkity-fucking shit.

Gintoki threw his doors wide open and ran past the dark rooms of the other students, arms tight around himself and curled into fist so he can punch any goblins that jumped in front of him. The wooden patio was slippery with the rain and he might end up slipping and cracking his skull open like an idiot, but he can’t care about that now when the witches are said to string up bad boys from their toes and eat their entrails while the poor brat was still alive and screaming.

Oh hell no, splitting his skull open is a better way to go despite the shame he will bear in the afterlife as Katsura wear that constipated face he always pulled out when he wanted to laugh but knows he’s not supposed to while Takasugi actually laugh. On his grave. 

Shouyou won’t laugh, no. He’d just stare at the tombstone and shake his head sadly. Disappointedly saying, “ _I raised you better than this_.” And isn’t _that_ a scary prospect because he suddenly had a vivid vision of his master kicking down Satan’s door to get him back. And would probably doom the world by offering up a bound-up Jesus as offering.

If anyone can catch a deity and bring back the dead, it’s going to be his master, he’s sure of it.

With that shiver-inducing thought in mind, he ran a bit more carefully until he reached his master’s room. It was also dark and he hesitated outside. Should he go in and disturb Shouyou just for something so stupid? His hand hovered over the door, hesitating.

Sighing, Gintoki turned around, preparing himself for a sleepless night. But in his dejection, he failed to notice the door opening behind him until a pair of arms wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him back to a sturdy chest, making him squeak.

“Come inside, Gintoki.” His master’s gentle voice quieted his demons.

Unlike the world outside, Shouyou’s futon was incredibly warm. He must have been sleeping until Gintoki came.

It’s a ridiculous, childish thing, but as Gintoki curled into the warmth and take a deep breath he immediately calmed down. He had seen Shouyou scaring people off just by glaring at them—the witches and the goblins and the demons don’t stand a chance.

Shouyou light up the room with a candle, casting his shadow on the walls like a huge blanket the color of night, before slipping into the futon by his side. His head supported by an arm while the other patting Gintoki’s shoulder, looking down at him with warm fondness.

“There you go. Are you cold?” he asked. He shook his head, face flushed from the disgrace of having to crawl into Shouyou’s bed just because of some rain. Shouyou answered him with a hum.

“Are you afraid, Gintoki?” he asked again.

“Of course I’m not, don’t be stupid.” He grumbled, voice muffled by the pillow. It dips when Shouyou lowered himself down beside him. Any other people who dared to invade his personal space like this, Gintoki would have kicked. But there was nothing about this that didn’t feel comforting.

“I see.” Shouyou closed his eyes and, in a low voice meant only for the two of them, said “But it’s okay if you are. Do you know why?”

Gintoki’s brows dipped into frown and he looked up. “Why?” a note of challenge in his tone.

“Because I will always be near.” Shouyou’s hand enveloped his cheeks and his lips pressed to Gintoki’s forehead, making his heart skip a beat and his fists curl into the bedding. Into the kiss, Shouyou murmured, “Any reason you have to fear, I’ll take them all away.”

“Liar.” The accusation forced its way past Gintoki’s throat. “Liar. Someday you will be gone too.”

“I won’t. I promise you that. See?” He tangled their little fingers together, tight. From across the pillow, Gintoki observed as a genuine, warm smile spread across his face. Nothing but naked love and honesty and it took nothing, nothing at all, for the jaded child to _believe_.

“If you lie.” Gintoki mumbled, “You’d have to swallow a thousand needles.”

“Oof, that’s scary.” Shouyou chuckled. “I have to protect this promise, then. I don’t want to swallow so many needles.”

“Idiot.” He grumbled.

“Sleep Gintoki.” Shouyou patted his back gently. “You don’t have to be alone again.”

That night, he slept peacefully, his hand enveloped in Shouyou’s huge, warm one.

And today, he wished those hands would come for him once again, dragging him to a peaceful sleep. It came back, an iron fist clamping over his, not to sleep but to reality, jolting him back into his body. The grip was warm but tight, squeezing his in reassurance and not allowing him to drop his sword.

The compass in his pocket stopped whirling, pointing straight at Shouyou.

Between his bangs damp with blood and sweat and past the blood in his eyes, Gintoki saw his master’s smile. Calm and serene, showing him the way to go.

“Fight, Gintoki. Aren’t there something you have to protect, so important you sacrificed me for it?” His voice, white noise and bubbles underwater, shining with the love spoken in the violent undercurrent of calm waters. It propped Gintoki up, giving him the strength he needed to straighten up and lift his sword.

Gintoki leaned on his warmth for a second that spanned an eternity and raised his sword with a warcry. The fight is not over.

As he stared down the abyss of death and the bottomless despair, Shouyou’s warmth was on his back and his hands around his fists, and there was nothing to fear. 

_._

_What were you doing? What were you looking at?_

_With that expression I’ve never seen before_

_._

“What should I do to make you proud?”

The question came unbidden, drawn out of him by the laughter of his classmates and the setting sun. Shouyou froze for a moment as if he’s surprised by the question and Gintoki don’t dare look up to see his face.

“Live.”

“Huh?” The answer made him raise an eyebrow, looking up in reflex despite not meaning to. There was it again. That sad, somber look in Shouyou’s eyes that he seldom showed to anyone. The wound in his smile and the open tear in his heart.

“Live, Gintoki. As long as you’re alive in a path you choose to be right, I will always be proud of you.”

“Seriously? You okay with it if someday I become a useless bum who’s always short on money and leeching off of everyone?” he folded his arms behind his head, looking up to the orange sky. “Maybe I’ll end up a leach, you hate that kind of people, don’cha?”

“But I can never hate you.” Shouyou hums. A hand fell on top of his head, messing up his hair and Gintoki swiped it away with an angry hiss.

.

_You whom I loved more than I realized_

.

Gintoki tips sideway, body heavy with the burden of the past and the _sake_ of today. He thumped to the floor, eyes gazing empty at the dark room and the sword in his hands, the only object he can see with clarity like it’s emitting its own light.

Like a ward of exorcism, the sword held the darkness at bay. A ring of light outside of which the nightmare shout and scream, but neither their voices nor their reaching claws could get to him.

.The cold on his toes and tip of nose was gone with a flush of warmth. A familiar smell pervades his senses, and he closed his eyes and takes a deep breath. The softness on the edges of the world coalesced, materializing into something tangible beneath his head and in his hair, caressing gently.

Gintoki pried his eyes, the strength left in him only allowing them to part millimeters apart. Through his blurry vision, he saw a kind smile above of him, eyes that silently spoke of the kind of love that moved mountains and breaks the sky in its devotion.

“Why do you fear, Gintoki?” He asked.

“Of course I’m not, don’t be stupid,” he tried to scoff. His grip tightened on the scabbard of the sword, a comforting weight in his hands. “You’re here.”

Despite the nightmare trying to claw to him and the past dragging him down, the white demon falls asleep safe in his master’s laps, hoping for tomorrow.

And the demon fell asleep, safe cradled in his master’s laps.

_._

_The only thing I can say for sure is that I will never forget_

_._

There’s no songbirds in the metal city of Edo, all of them long since ran away, afraid of becoming a caged thing with dead eyes like many of the city’s occupant. Their absence was filled by the drunken singing of bums and the car engines roaring through the neighborhood.

And the newest addition, a girl’s shout that split across the city.

“GIN-CHAN! GOOD MORNING! WE HAVE JOB TODAY SO WAKE UP ALREADY YOU USELESS, GOOD-FOR-NOTHING SON!”

The innocent passerby cringed and slammed their palms to their ears, eyes screwed shut against the abominable sound tearing into their very psyche. Beside the girl who’s shouting to the sky, a bespectacled young man was bowing and apologizing to everyone who gave them an annoyed side glances.

From the second floor window, Gintoki stick his torso out with an enraged face, already decked in his usual clothes and hair damp from shower. With a voice rivaling that of the little girl he boomed,

“SHUT IT YOU SHITTY BRAT! A MAN HAS TO DO WHAT A MAN HAS TO DO! WAIT THERE AND LOOK FOR LAPUTA OR SOMETHING!”

He slammed the windows shut like an annoyed mother, leaving Shinpachi to shake his head and wonder how he ended up becoming the most level-headed one in this bunch. But before the window can be shut completely, Otose slammed out of her house and threw a slipper in with the force of a thousand homing missiles.

“CAN’T YOU TWO IDIOTS SHUT UP? WHAT TIME DO YOU THINK THIS IS?!”

“WHY ONLY ME?!”

“YOU’RE THE ADULT! SET A BETTER EXAMPLE!”

“WELL, YOU’RE MORE ADULT THAN ME AND YOU’RE SHOUTING TOO, OLD HAG! GO AND PUNCH YOURSELF IN THE FACE!”

“Ginchan, Ginchan, there’s no Laputa cloud but there’s a golden retriever’s poop cloud!” Kagura cheerfully pointed to the sky, laughing rambunctiously, thankfully with a lowered volume now that she knew thee possible retaliation of shouting too loud in front of Otose’s house.

On the ground, Shinpachi is breaking his waist bowing rapidly to all the passerby while Kagura carefreely points to the sky.

With a hand pinching his bleeding nose, Gintoki bumps into his desk and curses his luck. Carefully, the knelt down and lowered the sword into the space underneath the floor. It’ll be bad if the Shinsengumi dogs find out he owned a sword, considering it’s illegal to posses one in this crazy era. Of course, that’s the only one reason he’d admit to himself for hiding it.

For one last time he stared at the sword. Unlike last night, it was not shining gently, warding off the nightmare. In the light of day it was just another sword. Chipped and rusted, with a well-worn handle that has seen better day. He closed the hole and stood up.

“Welp, time for work I guess.” Gintoki stretched while mumbling under his breath. When he walked outside, throwing the door wide open, he grinned down at the two kids who answered with grins of their own. 

He lead the way, walking in front while the two kids are fighting behind him about what to eat for breakfast (they hightailed it out of Shinpachi’s house the moment Otae mentioned cooking breakfast for them). He looked back at them from over his shoulder and allowed his smile to become a bit softer, not meant for anyone’s eyes to see and definitely not these kids’.

Shouyou was, and still is, the north to his compass. He had his eyes on Shouyou’s back ever since he was but a demon in a field of corpses. To this day, he’s still chasing it without rest. 

And now, looking back at the two brats following his back the way he had once followed his, Gintoki wonder if he’s doing a decent job at becoming the light.

.

.

.

_Even the pain and suffering of those days are bearable with you by my side_

_Remaining in my heart is the bitter smell of lemon_

_I can’t go home before the rain lets up, and like a fruit splits into two_

_Even now, you are my light_

.

.

.

**Author's Note:**

> the song is Kenshi Yonezu's Lemon, the single most Gintoki/Shouyou song I have ever heard, right up there with Luck Life's Kaze ga Fuku Machi. I can't listen to it without imagining Gintoki curling up holding the sword, which is why this fic was born. 
> 
> I love how complicated Gintoki and Shouyou's relationship is, and the clear love and respect they hold for each other despite the fucked up circumstance the world (*coughsorachicough*) decided to put them in. Easily one of my favorite dynamic in the whole series. 
> 
> The autumn rain scene is directly inspired by this heart-wrenching comic: https://www.pixiv.net/member_illust.php?mode=medium&illust_id=30857079
> 
> P.S: I was experimenting with a more 'fragmented' style of presentation which is why the scenes kind of broke apart in two to three pieces. Tell me if it works with the tone of the story or just really fucking confusing in the comment, and I'll give you a virtual milk and cookies 🍪


End file.
